


Here To Stay

by Mekina



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Unrequited Wincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-12
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 05:29:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mekina/pseuds/Mekina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why did he have to be so gorgeous, why did Dean have to feel this way, to want him so much. It wasn't right and it wasn't fair, and he didn't <i>want</i> it, to feel like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here To Stay

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Here To Stay 停留](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1456033) by [alucard1771](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alucard1771/pseuds/alucard1771)



"Want another beer?" Sam called from the kitchenette.

"Yeah, fine," Dean grunted, not taking his eyes off the knife he was sharpening. Important to stay focused so he didn't cut himself. Nevermind that he'd been doing it so long he was capable of going through the motions with his eyes shut; it was an excuse not to look at Sam, or at whatever godawful crap was playing on the TV. This motel only got like three channels, and one of them was infomercials.

"Here." Sam came over to stand beside Dean's bed, holding out the bottle for him to take. Christ, couldn't he just throw it or something?

Dean reached out a hand for it, Sam passed it to him, their fingers brushed. The expected jolt of heat in his gut. It was ridiculous. One tiny brush of skin setting him on fire like not even the hottest striptease he'd gotten from his hookups.

He looked up after a minute, and realized Sam was still standing beside the bed, with a concerned expression. "You alright, man?"

Shame and disgust and _want_ all twisted together inside him, choking him, making it hard to breathe. "Fine," he forced out. "Just fine."

Sam nodded and clapped him on the shoulder, thankfully removing his hand in time to not feel the shiver that passed through Dean at the contact. He went to lay on his own bed, grabbed the remote and switched the channel.

Dean stared down at the knife he was gripping too tight, handle digging into his skin, barely hearing Sam when he informed him that they had a choice between golf, High School Musical, or an infomercial about ugly ass leather organizers.

Sam finally decided on the infomercial, and actually seemed to be watching it with mild interest. Dean took the oppurtunity to glance over at him.

He was sprawled on his bed in boxers and a tee, all loose and relaxed. In a good mood, and so goddamned beautiful it took Dean's breath away just looking at him.

Why did he have to be so gorgeous, why did Dean have to feel this way, to want him so much. It wasn't right and it wasn't fair, and he didn't _want_ it, to feel like this.

He hated it, fuck, but he hated it, this desire, and all the feelings that accompanied it. What it was doing to him, to be holding it in like this, struggling not to let it show even a bit. What it would do to the relationship he had with Sam, what it was doing, even now.

Dean hated how he couldn't even touch Sam without feeling lust shooting through him. Even the smallest touches, their shoulders bumping, or a hand on a shoulder like earlier, would have his dick stiffening in his shorts. It was bullshit, and he hated every second of it.

Winchesters had never been particularly affectionate, and he tried to avoid what limited gestures they usually made. God only knew what would happen if Sam ever hugged him. His control would shatter, Dean was sure of it, and he'd end up doing something that would irreparably damage things between them.

He'd been dealing with this for a while now, was pretty good at hiding it. And it hurt to see the slightly wounded and very confused expression Sam got when Dean tried not to make too much contact with him, but it was better than Sam noticing his inappropriate response to said contact.

But yeah, it sucked that he couldn't even touch his little brother anymore. (In brotherly, platonic ways. Not the way his twisted, dirty mind wanted to interpert that.) Anytime he did, his brain and body leapt way ahead and started imagining and craving more, images of stripping Sam, pushing him against a wall, dropping to his knees... Better not to touch at all.

It had been like this since Stanford, and hadn't that made Dean feel especially disgusting. Lusting after his little brother who was grieving for his dead girlfriend. It had taken him by surprise, that was for sure. Even now, the memory of Sam pinning him down... It was way hotter than it had any right to be.

Seeing Sam again after four years, Dean could hardly believe it was him. His little brother had gotten taller. Wider. Grown into those huge hands and feet. Not so little, anymore, really.

Of course he made excuses, back then, telling himself it was just his reaction to seeing Sam after so many years, and him being so different. Except that was a stupid excuse that didn't make any sense, and he found out soon enough it was so much more than that.

He found out real quick that he wanted Sam, any and every way he could have him, wanted to do so many things to him, with him, that he wasn't supposed to want.

It was just since Stanford. Never before. Dean was a sick, twisted fuck for wanting his brother the way he did, but he never would have looked at, thought about Sam then the way he did now. Not in a million years. He'd have dug his own eyes out with a rusty spoon before he even had a dirty thought towards Sam.

Except...he wasn't sure. And there was another reason he hated this damn attraction so much. Dean hated the fact that it made him go through his memories of life Before Sam Left and reexamine every word, every touch, every look he ever exchanged with Sam, checking them over, making them feel bad and wrong. Those times were some of the few good memories he had (good compared to the present, at any rate) when it was just him and Sam and Dad, and they were heroes, and hunting was good. Life was good, and maybe Dean dropped out of school, but it didn't matter with the grades Sammy was bringing home, and Dean looked at him and was so proud he wanted to burst, amazed that he'd had a hand in who Sam was, that maybe, just maybe, he was a little responsible for Sam turning out so great, so smart, so damn good.

Those memories, he felt like he was polluting them, going back over them the way he did now. And he hated it. All of it. The thoughts and the dreams, the shame and disgust and even more self loathing than usual, and just, all of it.

Dean looked back over at Sam, who was laying flat on his back, still watching the TV, now switched to some program about rockets. The corners of his mouth were turned up in an almost-but-not-quite-a smile, and seeing him like that (seeing him period, he was so pathetic) made Dean's heart speed up.

Most of all, he hated the idea of Sam finding out, of tainting Sammy with the knowledge of just how sick his big brother was. He was meant to look after Sam, protect him, and instead? He was the one who Sam should be running from.

Then of course there was what Sam would do if he found out. Hate him, _leave him_ , no, he couldn't deal with that.

He'd do what he was so good at. Push it down, and down, and bury it and pretend like he was a perfectly normal human being who never had sick thoughts about their close relations.

Taking a deep breath, Dean forced a smirk and turned towards Sam. "High School Musical, huh? C'mon, Sammy, you know you wanna get your girl on."

The pillow to the face was totally worth hearing Sam's laugh.

He could suffer in silence with his twisted thoughts and desires, as long as Sam never found out. Never left him. He was damn lucky he had Sam at all, and Dean figured he better start being grateful for what he had.

One day he might wake up and not have anything at all.


End file.
